


Heart of Darkness

by boywifebruce



Category: DCU
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywifebruce/pseuds/boywifebruce
Summary: Dick only wanted to be held, and to feel loved and cherished by his new father figure. Bruce wanted to die, because he knew, deep down, his love for his son was a thing of evil.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	Heart of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> hey guy and welcome back to archive of our own, a website i created and am the sole writer for
> 
> this took me 3 months to write, i really do not know when i started this but it took way longer to finish than i ever thought it would, and as a result i will warn you now and say i rushed the ending but i had a few people proofread it and everyone seems to say that it feels complete the way it is so i'm considering it done
> 
> brudick is one of my all time favorite pairings and it's right up there in the same tiers as superbat and arthurbruce so writing something for it was inevitable. i straight up one time just asked people for suggestions on what to write, someone briefly replied with "brudick", and here you go. an 11k fanfic about bruce wanting to die because he's a baby banger
> 
> anyway please enjoy

Bruce was protective of his young ward, and with good reason. The two had shared similar trauma, a bond they had with one another in the darkness of their hearts, something that would shape the two of them for the rest of their lives. Bruce had Alfred, however, and Dick had no one before the orphan billionaire had entered his life. As if suffering such a loss weren’t enough, the very city they lived in wasn’t the safest place for one so fragile and vulnerable. If Bruce wasn’t there to shield his boy, to safeguard him, he had no idea what might become of him.

Dick may have ended up like him, after all.

Bruce always kept a watchful eye on Dick, no matter the context; when the two were out on their own business during daylight, or even if Dick was exhausting his remaining energy during the evening with some gymnastics, something the boy still loved despite what it had led to. His eyes were always on him, making sure Dick wasn’t hurt, or stolen, or unhappy.

The two of them were in the parlor one evening, laying into the couch together, while a movie Dick had wanted to see was playing on the screen. Dick was nestled against his stalwart guardian, eyes focused entirely on the film that played before them, while Bruce had his arm around his tiny frame. His hands played with his dark hair for a bit, occasionally touching the shell of his ear, while Bruce’s thoughts were preoccupied otherwise.

Dick had never been shy to affection, even if his new adoptive father was a virtual stranger to him. Bruce had been hesitant to provide such a thing to the boy, not sure of how he would react, but Dick had practically yearned for it even in the beginning. Dick needed it, this paternal warmth in the wake of his parents’ disaster, and even if he had cried the first time Bruce had held him in his arms, he always wanted it. He desperately wanted to feel loved.

The boy was nearing twelve years old now, and Bruce never felt uncomfortable for giving him so much physical attention, since Dick had appreciated it immensely. His parents always hugged and kissed and doted upon him, and even if Bruce was more reserved than his father, Dick loved having Bruce’s fingers combing through his hair, or loved the tickling sensation of said fingers trailing down his neck. Still, however, no matter how much Bruce tried to suppress it, to pretend it wasn’t there, there was always this terrifying feeling eating away at him like a black hole in his heart—

“You’re not watching the movie,” Dick suddenly said, a slight smile to his voice. He adjusted himself and leaned into the warm body beside him even more, sighing a bit. “If you didn’t want to watch anything tonight, you should have said something.”

“It’s not that,” Bruce said. “I just have a lot on my mind, is all.”

“Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t exactly say, of course, lest he risk alienating Dick if he understood, or having him begin to whine and fuss and press the issue in the event that he didn’t, like he had before when Bruce tried to set in place boundaries between them. And Bruce caved in to this wants and demands so easily..

Instead of answering, Bruce tried to divert his question, and his fingers left his hair and began caressing his cheek, and jawline. Dick tilted his head back, and Bruce felt him smile.

“I really like that,” Dick said, voice soft. “But why won’t you tell me what you’re thinking about? Unless you don’t want me to know.”

“It’s not that.” It was that. “It’s a lot of boring adult matters, nothing you ought to concern yourself with.”

Dick hummed and shifted in his spot, before turning his body towards Bruce, looking up at him. “We can just watch this some other time, if you’re too stressed out.”

Bruce looked down at him. Dick’s bright blue eyes were right on his own. His face was downright doll-like, looking to be made of the finest porcelain, with delicately sculpted cheeks, lips, eyelashes. Every part of this boy’s face was beautiful, and it was this delicate beauty that ate away at Bruce, and made him feel sick to his stomach.

Bruce leaned down to kiss his forehead, making Dick smile his widest, before telling him that he should continue watching his movie. He let out a hum, but was right back to watching the screen, pressed against his guardian’s side, completely unbeknownst to the darkness that plagued Bruce’s mind.

Bruce, himself, had difficulty understanding this feeling. It was a sort of guilt that was always present in the back of his mind, permeating in the background when he would look at Dick, or think of Dick. When he would touch the boy, however, or when Dick would hold onto his arm, or wrap his arms around him, it would become so great. His mouth would grow dry, and he felt himself becoming more and more anxious, as though he were mildly aware of a deadly premonition.

But it was a lovely feeling, all the same. A degree of joy he only got from tending to his boy, from caring for him and providing for him, that was unparalleled in any aspect of his life. Alfred had always chided him for never allowing himself to feel happiness, and even he had made comments on the improvement on his attitude after having adopted and bonded with Dick. His fingers trembled, and yet they yearned, and his conditioned rewards were serotonin and dread.

He was an angel. He was his benevolent savior. And Bruce had the darkest desires for him.

Bruce oughtn’t have been allowed near him.

Dick was so innocent, despite the scars on his soul left behind by his parents’ murder, and Bruce felt like he was taking advantage of him simply by allowing himself to be near him. Bruce was a sinner, if Dick was to be a saint, and not simply because of this recent development with Bruce’s inner conscience suggesting things it shouldn’t. Bruce had been reckless and careless in his youth, and he knows he never dealt with his problems in a productive way. He used to drink a lot, sleep around a lot, and had ideations of his own death. Even now, well into adulthood, he felt himself growing more jaded, more apathetic, and he knew he was good for no one. God bless poor Alfred.

But Dick loved him. Dick always wanted to be near him, feeling safe around Bruce, feeling protected. Dick had fun around Bruce, though he never understood why, and when Bruce went to galas or stayed late at Wayne Enterprises managing his affairs, Alfred would remark to him discreetly about Dick having felt lonely, as the boy was too proud to admit it himself. Bruce felt as though he was leaving a beloved pet all alone to its own devices during the day, not knowing when its owner would return. He felt even guiltier.

Dick had wanted to share the bed with Bruce at night, and Bruce undoubtedly knew that was a disastrous idea, and he never allowed it. Even if he would whine and beg and plead, Bruce never succumbed, because he knew, deep, deep down, that it would not end well. This was one happiness he couldn’t allow for Dick, and he always retorted with empty excuses of Dick needing to sleep in his own bed, despite Dick being plagued by demons of his own. Demons in the shape of murderers.

Bruce had nightmares quite frequently, and it was something none of his medication helped with. A lot of them were recurring, within the same continuity as the one before it, and, for the most part, they were manageable. Some of these awful dreams became so formulaic that he became lucid, at times, recognizing that he was dreaming whilst in the process of it, softening the blow it did to his conscious mind. The dreams were roughly the same, focusing on some evil entity that he couldn’t overcome, something that took his parents away from him like on that dreadful night. It was often for him to be a child in such scenarios. The context and message was always the same, and, depending on the severity, he would forget it after a night’s rest, or he would wake up screaming, sweating, shaking, sobbing.

Lately, however, his nightmares began to warp, and dealt with a different sort of monster entirely.

The dreams centered around a dark haired boy, with long limbs and delicate features. The boy would lie on a comfortable bed, stretching and sprawled out, or would approach Bruce directly. The boy would giggle, a sound as sweet as a little bell, pulling on Bruce’s hand, encouraging him to touch his soft face, or his chest. The boy would love Bruce’s hands on him, ask for more, asking so sweetly, and he would sigh. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.

These dreams weren’t violent or frightening, but were far worse—attractive. Rather than waking up with cold sweats, Bruce would wake up with an entirely different problem, and his desire to die would return. The first night he’d had such a dream, he awoke with intense nausea, and he had to hurry to the bathroom before he could even think of falling back asleep.

Of course, Bruce could tell himself he didn’t understand these dreams. He could tell himself they were harmless, and that the ideations he’d had while he was awake were of no concern. He could tell himself it was mere coincidence that the boy in his dream and the boy just down the hall, the boy sitting at the table eating breakfast, the boy standing on the tips of his toes to ask for a kiss goodbye as he went off to school, the boy that made his heart and brain feel like they were on fire, looked exactly the same. He could say he didn’t understand, but he did, and yet he chose to do nothing, for Dick was the only thing preventing him from killing himself.

Bruce needed this boy.

Bruce was, truly, a terrible person, for rather than banish these thoughts entirely and expunging them from his mind, he would indulge himself by allowing himself to be near the object of his desires. It was why he continued to hold Dick, to lie with him on the couch, and why he would kiss his little face, held between his hands. He absolutely showered Dick with love and adoration, as much as would seem reasonable of a responsible father figure, and, just like in his dreams—

Dick always asked for more.

“Lay with me tonight.” Bruce was holding the sleepy child in his arms after their movie was over, helping him to his room upstairs. “Not for the whole night. Just until I fall asleep—please?”

Bruce was screaming inside of his own mind, and a wave of immense anxiety washed over him. He couldn’t tell his boy why it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“I’m afraid if I laid down in your bed, I wouldn’t wake up in time for work tomorrow,” Bruce said, teasing. “I’m exhausted, Dick, I was going to head to bed as soon as I tucked you in.”

“Then why not sleep together?” Another wave of immense anxiety, and if Bruce weren’t so stoic, he would have trembled; he could feel his heart pound and his blood run cold. “I get so lonely at night. This house is so big compared to where I lived before, and whenever I was sad, my parents always let me sleep with them. Why can’t I sleep with you?”

“Dick, you’re turning twelve soon, you really need to be able to sleep by yourself.”

“Even when I’m sad?” His voice had an appropriate lilt to it.

“Well, are you feeling sad tonight?”

“Yeah—because you won’t let me sleep with you!”

Bruce sighed as he opened the door to Dick’s room, and the boy in his arms whined as Bruce set him down on his bed, laying him to rest. Dick’s brow was furrowed, and his little lips were puffed out in a pout. He looked so much younger than he actually was, and Bruce couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle.

“I’m sorry that I won’t share my bed with you. I know how alienating it can feel to suddenly have your world turned upside down for you, but, Dick, you’ve been here for over seven months. It can’t be so bad anymore, can it?”

Bruce did, however, sit down on the edge of the bed, and Dick was laying on his side, looking away, while his fingers played with the edge of Bruce’s wrist cuff.

“Is something else bothering you?”

Dick was quiet for a moment, contemplating whether he ought to respond, before withdrawing his hands to himself.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” he finally said.

Bruce was stroking his face with his freed hand at that point, brushing the backs of his fingers against his cheek. “No, not at all. Our feelings are never stupid, Dick, and we can’t help what makes us sad. Go on, you can say it.”

Dick was quiet, again, but he was looking up at Bruce, and he looked so fragile.

“I ask you to lay with me all the time, but you never do unless it’s on the couch or something. I always say how I get lonely when you’re not around, but you tell me I need to be a big kid about it. So if I’m not stupid for feeling lonely and stuff, why don’t you ever help make it go away?”

Bruce had thought the boy was too proud to voice these concerns. He opened his mouth slightly, calculating a reply.

“Do you really feel that way, Dick?”

“Yeah, but I feel like it makes me sound annoying, so I mostly just tell Alfred. I know you can’t help when you have to work, and stuff, but you don’t have anywhere to be tonight, do you? So why not tonight? Just until I fall asleep, I promise, then I’ll stop asking.”

Dick had needed this more than Bruce had realized. He was aware of the occasional comment made by Alfred, but since he had never approached Bruce directly about it, he’d assumed it was just a childish whim. He hadn’t ever thought the boy annoying for needing affection, and while the distancing had been intentional and meant to be protective, he didn’t see how it could have, in turn, hurt the boy he was trying to save.

He didn’t want to see, but maybe he had all along.

And if Bruce continued to put up barriers between them that Dick couldn’t see and understand, he would feel sadder, and lonelier, and, maybe, he would begin to pull away on his own.

Bruce closed his eyes, and inhaled a breath.

The bed was full-sized, so Bruce could easily lie down beside him. He was propped up against the headboard, and he opened his arms to suggest the boy curl up beside him, and the two would cuddle one another. Dick smiled so brightly, and took the opportunity immediately.

“Yay! You’re the best, Bruce!”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t going to be a habit or anything, got it?”

“Just for tonight, yep!”

“Only until you fall asleep, understand?”

“Mmhmm, I promise!”

“And you’ll come to me when you’re feeling down, not Alfred, and we can find ways to make you feel better that don’t involve--”

Bedding your twelve year old son.

He swallowed, but he didn’t need to continue, because when he looked down, he saw Dick’s eyes on him, a smile so earnest and soft. He was truly happy.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

His cock throbbed.

It was a good thing that Dick had agreed to this being the only time he would ask Bruce to lay in bed with him, because after that night, he had no intention of ever letting himself be with his young ward in such a situation ever again. Dick had fallen asleep after only a handful of minutes, sound and peaceful, allowing Bruce a speedy escape to go alleviate his problem in quiet. Except he didn’t try touching himself and ridding of it that way; he took a long, cold shower, as cold as he could stand it, with his forehead and knuckles pressed against the tiling, the frigid water pouring over his head and shoulders. Eventually, it went away, but while Dick had slept sated and pacified, Bruce couldn’t even close his eyes.

He was late coming down for breakfast, intentionally and not. He knew it was time for Alfred to be preparing the first meal of the day--he could smell the coffee and the bacon and biscuits trailing throughout the upper floors of the manor--and he knew that Alfred, and Dick, would be questioning his absence, their worries both subtle and blatant. He tried to procrastinate for as long as he could, as though he were suddenly afflicted with executive dysfunction, because five minutes became ten minutes, ten minutes became twenty, twenty became fifty. It had been almost an hour since Alfred had begun cooking, but the last thing he wanted was to be downstairs, with Alfred commenting on the lack of sleep in his eyes, overhearing Dick talk about how happy he was that Bruce lay in bed with him that night.

Alfred was smart, he’d eventually put two and two together. He desperately regretted sharing the bed with his boy, he so terribly wished he hadn’t agreed to it, and he sincerely felt that the overwhelming happiness and satisfaction it had brought Dick was not at all worth the emotional turmoil it had brought Bruce, and it was most certainly not worth what it had awakened in him.

If the minutes dragged on even longer, they would both become curious. Alfred may even become suspicious, but Dick would be able to sense something was wrong, and probably blame himself, and then he wouldn’t want to be around Bruce anymore, lest he upset him. Bruce couldn’t have that, though, he needed his boy, even if he was a threat to him. Dick both calmed and excited him, and even outside of his own disgusting feelings for his own adopted son, Bruce would be able to live with himself even less if he knew his own selfishness was further cause for the boy’s misfortune. Dick would worry, would blame himself, would put his own distance between Bruce that Bruce couldn’t control; Alfred would pick up on Bruce’s behavior, he would realize his depression worsened when spending time with Dick, and he would, in time, realize just what was going on in his household.

He couldn’t do that to Alfred, and he couldn’t do that to Dick. It had been over an hour since breakfast had started, two hours after he was supposed to have first woken up, and he eventually pushed the covers off, got out of bed, and began descending the stairs. He wrapped his robe around his hips, and he overheard exactly what he thought he would. Dick’s soft voice speaking such fond praises for Bruce, saying how relieved and pleased he was that Bruce finally laid down with him, even a bit of bashful reservedness in regards to his own needs.

“You were right, Alfred,” Dick was saying, and Bruce could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve been asking him to spend time with me for so long, I was worried he never would. I was worried he didn’t really like me, but last night he did! All I had to do was tell him how important it was to me, like you said, and he finally did it! Oh, I wish I’d done it sooner!”

“Master Richard,” he heard Alfred respond, his tone warm and loving, “Master Bruce is a very stubborn man. He tends to not allow himself the things that make him happy, but it is never your fault. You bring out wonderful things in him, but it takes quite a while, indeed, before he’s willing to express it. It is something I’d hoped he’d have grown out of by this point, but nonetheless, you need never to blame yourself for how he behaves.”

Bruce grimaced. Alfred was always direct when it came to criticizing him, but the man had earned the right since he’d essentially fathered him once Bruce had been orphaned. However, Alfred was very, very wrong about his perceptions this time.

“I just wish he’d hang out with me more,” he heard Dick say, sounding down. “I’m worried I’ll annoy him by asking so much. But he really didn’t seem to mind once we laid down! And I didn’t have any nightmares last night, either!”

“That is very good to hear, young master.”

“Maybe it’s okay if I annoy him a bit,” Dick let out the most pleasant little giggle.

“Nothing amuses either of us more than a mildly annoyed Master Bruce.”

Bruce eventually rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, greeting the two of them playfully as he grabbed himself a cup of coffee.

“What’s this I hear about you annoying me, huh? What kind of harassment are you two planning on making me the victim of?”

Dick gave him the brightest smile Bruce had seen yet from the boy, and his heart felt as though it were just stabbed and he hesitated as he poured the coffee. It was disarming. His pink, delicate lips were so wide, flashing his pearly white teeth, and his eyes were so full of emotion. Bruce wanted to hold his face in his hands and kiss him until he died.

“It was Alfred’s idea!”

“Oh, yeah, sure, blame the butler.”

If I ever do anything to this boy, Bruce thought to himself, Alfred has nothing to do with it.

He sat down with his coffee as Alfred prepared his plate, and, sitting across from Dick, he smiled fondly as the boy tried chatting with him in between mouthfuls of food. Alfred made a passing comment about the bags under Bruce’s eyes. Dick was thanking Bruce for being with him last night.

It was then, of course, no surprise that Bruce was even more limiting with how much time he allowed himself to spend with Dick. He would hide his inner suffering through his smiles and fond words towards Dick, but after that night, he unfortunately became busier with work. Such a shame. But that’s okay, because Bruce promised Dick that once this new deal had been agreed upon by the board, he would spend plenty of time with him.

There was no such deal, naturally, and work was only as demanding as it ever was. This was also just a temporary solution to his problem, and it could only go on for so long. Bruce had felt guilty for lying to the boy and withholding what the boy wanted so desperately, but he knew it was for his own good. Bruce felt he was growing closer and closer to hurting the boy, and destroying his life more than any murderer could. This pain for the two of them was necessary.

Bruce would always see Dick off to school, and he would always greet him after Bruce had gotten in from work that evening. Sometimes he was home later because of real, factual meetings, but they only served to work in Bruce’s favor. He did try to placate Dick through bonding with him during dinner, asking him about his day, showing him he was genuinely listening. Dick would ask for a movie afterwards, though, or ask if they could go into town for a new toy tomorrow, or to see a show, and Bruce had more excuses now than ever.

“He believes that you’re trying to push him away again,” Alfred said to him one evening.

“And what do you think, Alfred?”

“I believe you’re causing yourself unnecessary pain, Master Bruce.”

“I assure you, Alfred, it is very necessary.”

“Blatantly lying to the young master is necessary.” Alfred said, slow and flat. He quirked an eyebrow, and walked out of the room.

Alfred didn’t understand at all, and Bruce didn’t want him to ever have to, but his words resonated with Bruce, and they hurt. Bruce knew what he was doing was wrong, for the both of them, for anyone involved, but he was entirely convinced that it was better than the alternative. He didn’t want to think about Dick growing to hate him, however, and he feared that this was inevitable.

Giving in and hurting Dick was a terrible fear, but Dick hating him no matter what made him more afraid than he’d been in so long. It felt like a neverending nightmare with no escape. He couldn’t wake up from this.

During a round of self-deprecating the week after he’d spoken to Alfred, Bruce was at his office, staring at documents on his laptop, but not really reading them, or seeing them. He was far too distracted, thinking nothing other than what awaited him when he returned that evening, and the growing temptation to simply not go home at all was spreading out from the back of his skull into the rest of his brain like a deadly virus. Thinking about this was giving him a headache, but he couldn’t stop--he blew out a hard sigh from his nose and buried his face in his hands.

This was not sustainable.

As he ran a hand through his well-styled hair, looking at the ceiling, his phone on his desk chimed and vibrated. Looking at the lit-up screen, he’d received a message from Alfred. If he was going to chastise him, Alfred knew better than to bother him at work with it, but when he picked up the device and turned it on to read what had been sent, a freezing chill ran throughout his body, and he felt a sudden lurch in his stomach.

The text message read, “Young Master Richard was injured during class today. No broken bones. Needs to stay at home for the remainder of this week to rest.”

Bruce knew he went pale while reading it, and he could feel beads of sweat form on his brow. Dick had been hurt, probably playing too recklessly in gym class, but Alfred’s message had been so short and succinct, what if it was more? What if Dick was being bullied, and he hadn’t told Bruce because of the distance Bruce put between them? What if Alfred knew who his bullies were, what they’d been saying to him?

Dick wasn’t one to pick fights, so had it been an accident? What kind of injury was it, and why had no one told him until after everything had been resolved?

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, this horrible realization finally dawning on him and awakening his sleeping senses. Of course no one had told him until after the fact; he may have signed the documents saying Dick was his new son, but it was a formality only. He did nothing to convince anyone involved that he truly was the boy’s father, no matter how much love and care he felt for the boy in his heart. His own darkness was withholding this luxury for him--a luxury to be able to have an entirely unpolluted love for Dick, and being able to care for him as a true father cared for his son.

But no. He couldn’t have that, and even if the manner of this injury was minor and inconsequential, the idea that something horribly could go wrong with Dick because of his emotional neglect and he would never even know it until it was too late was all too clear in his mind. This was not sustainable, and if it continued, he would lose Dick.

He wanted to dig his own eyes out in grief.

He eventually collected himself and sent Alfred a quick message, saying he was on his way. He closed his laptop and slipped all his paperwork into a sleeve before leaving his office. He told his secretary that there had been an emergency with his son (and he ignored the way it made his head throb as he said the word), and as he made his way to his car in the parking garage at Wayne Enterprises, his phone buzzed and chimed again.

“He is in his room.”

He couldn’t have gotten home fast enough, but he used the drive as a means to try to calm himself and his nerves down before he greeted Dick. He still hadn’t known the nature of his injury, but Alfred assured there were no broken bones. Bruce wondered if it was a sprain, a bad cut, or a blow to the head. He tried to prepare himself, and he had to shut away any of his darker feelings for Dick so that he could actually, properly, be there for him in his time of need. There was also the very real chance that Bruce was drastically overreacting to the horrible news, but, in his mind, it wasn’t so much as the injury itself, but what this meant for his relationship with Dick. Dick being hurt was terrible, yes, and it could have been very serious, but Bruce, right now, just wanted to have been the first person that had been told about it. Not Alfred.

Thank God he had Alfred, either way. He’d have probably killed himself before he’d even had the chance to meet Dick if it weren’t for him.

His feet carried him directly up the stairs and right to Dick’s room as soon as he’d reached the manor. His heart rate was so high, but if Bruce was good at anything, it was disguising his emotions with his outward behavior and mannerisms. He’d knocked on Dick’s door, unbeknownst to what state the boy inside would be in, and even as his neurons were skyrocketing and his pulse was beating like mad, he slowly opened the door with a smile.

“Hey, kid, why aren’t you in school?” Bruce asked him with a teasing tone. Dick was sitting upright, his blankets over his legs. He was returning Bruce’s smile, but it was more reserved, shyer.

“Hey, B,” he said, and his voice sounded so soft and distant. He tilted his head as he flashed his teeth, looking up at Bruce with his big, blue eyes. “I slipped going down the stairs.”

Bruce simultaneously felt immense relief at hearing it was an accident, and significantly more worried at what the accident was. He stepped into the young boy’s room, closing the door behind him, before moving to sit on his bed, slowly and carefully. He reached a hand out, hesitantly, to brush some of Dick’s bangs out from his eyes, and tucking it behind his ear.

“Did someone push you?” Of course, Bruce had other suspicions.

“What? No, no one pushed me, I just fell--”

“Well, were the stairs wet, then?”

“No, they were inside,” Dick said, and he looked away and worried his lip with his teeth.

Bruce leaned forward, and cupped Dick’s small cheek with his much larger hand, turning him back to look at him once more. Bruce was searching his eyes.

“Did someone push you,” he repeated. “Dick, you can tell me--is anyone at your school giving you trouble?”

Dick looked up at Bruce from beneath his long, thick lashes, and some color began to fill his face before he pulled away from Bruce’s tender touch.

“What if I am?” His voice was barely above a whisper. His little hands were twisting the blankets beneath them. “What would you do? You’d probably just tell me not to worry about it, then never mention it again.”

“Dick--”

“If I was being bullied, or something, you’d just treat it like you treat anything else I tell you. It’d probably,” his voice hitched, and he looked down at his lap. His eyes were growing wet, but he maintained a steady voice. A skill he shouldn’t have to have acquired. “You’d probably want to stop being around me even more.”

Dick’s long fingers toyed with the blanket for a bit longer before smoothing it down, and resting his hands on top of his lap. Neither he nor Bruce said anything for a few moments, before Dick inhaled and spoke again, with more confidence, and a forced smile.

“Anyway, no, it wasn’t anyone at school. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Bruce moved closer to Dick, and he looked at him directly as he spoke, trying to speak as gingerly as he could to the sad child. Trying to keep his own voice steady and even.

“You’re a master acrobat, Dick, the only reason you don’t simply ride down the banister here is because you’re well-mannered and you couldn’t afford to make Alfred mad at you. Stairs are nothing to you, so what happened? What’s wrong?”

Dick became anxious again, and he began fidgeting with his fingers as he grew quiet. Bruce reached forward and tenderly held Dick’s hands in his own. They were so delicate and feminine, and Bruce was staring at them as he rubbed the backs of them with his thumb. He felt Dick stiffen, and heard him lightly gasp.

“I,” Dick started, eyes wide. He licked his lips and swallowed before trying again. “I, ah, wasn’t paying attention, Bruce, that’s all--”

Bruce looked up at his face. Dick’s cheeks were growing redder and redder, and he was breathing more quickly through his slightly parted lips. He must have been embarrassed, or maybe--

“Do you have a fever?”

“N-no, Bruce, I just didn’t sleep well last night--I tripped, because I wasn’t focusing, and--”

Bruce brought his other hand to touch the backs of his fingers to Dick’s forehead. He felt a little warm, and Bruce furrowed his brow in concern. His fingers trailed down to Dick’s reddened cheek, and he stroked his face as he watched the boy begin to tremble and look at him in a dazed shock.

“You’re acting strange.”

“S--so are you,” Dick said, his voice much higher, like a whimper.

They were both quiet for a few moments longer. Bruce held and caressed Dick’s bright red face as his other hand held and caressed his significantly smaller hands. Dick was beginning to tremble, and his lips were pressed tightly together as he tried to look away, trying to look at anything other than the man on his bed. Bruce was still staring at him, like he was investigating him, trying to determine the source of his dilemma through his eyes alone.

Bruce hadn’t even thought that he hadn’t ever touched Dick like this before. He tried desperately not to, but his concern for the boy was certainly outweighing that sort of mentality at the moment, and for that, he was thankful for his priorities, for once. What must this have seemed to Dick, he found himself wondering.

Dick took another inhale of breath, opening his lips to speak, but he hesitated, as if he was contemplating saying what was on his mind or not.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he said. When Bruce didn’t respond, he continued. “I thought I made you mad for always wanting to spend time with you. I always made you watch movies with me, I always asked you to take me into Gotham to go do stuff, I always--” He hesitated again. “I always wanted you to sleep in my bed. Like I’m some dumb little kid. And then you finally did, and you just--I thought I made you mad. I thought you finally wanted to start being with me, but you didn’t. So I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Dick sounded defeated, and when he blinked, a tear escaped from the corner of his eye. He still wasn’t looking at Bruce.

“That’s why I fell down the stairs at school. I didn’t sleep well last night. Sorry for worrying you, B, it won’t happen again.”

Bruce weighed his next words carefully, but he didn’t retreat. He didn’t let go of Dick, he didn’t stop touching his cheek, and he didn’t stop looking into his eyes. He couldn’t run from this, and he may not have known exactly what to do, but he knew he had to wake up.

“No, it won’t happen again, Dick.”

Dick flinched at what he’d said, and he went rigid again. Bruce didn’t let go.

“Remember what I told you, about the things you feel? They’re never stupid, and we can’t help the things that make us sad. You feeling so hurt by this isn’t your fault, and you aren’t to blame for wanting to spend time with me. This is because I haven’t been giving you the attention you need and deserve, and I’m sorry, Dick. I am.”

Dick sniffled, and blinked out another tear.

“I don’t hate you, Dick, and I feel so awful that I make you think that way about me. I only have myself to blame for all this--I never meant to hurt you. I care about you, Dick, I swear on my life.”

“Then why don’t you like being around me?” Dick’s voice finally betrayed what he was feeling, and he sounded so terribly close to sobbing. His words quivered, and he began to sniffle more and more. “If you care about me, why don’t you ever want to be with me? Is there something wrong with me?”

“No, Dick,” Bruce said. “It’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then what?” Dick was sounding desperate, and his hand shot up to hold onto Bruce’s wrist, keeping his hand against his face as he began to cry. “What is it? Why can’t you show me you love me?”

Bruce’s heart was torn in half.

He blinked, slowly, and he counted to ten behind his closed eyes. He could hear Dick’s whimpers, could feel his light grip around his wrist, and knew of the emotional and physical tremors devastating the boy who had tried his hardest to be strong like his father. Dick couldn’t keep it up, and he’d lost control.

Dick lost his restraint, and laid bare his pure, naked emotions to Bruce, the man he was convinced could know nothing about him, after so many months of letting them eat him alive in silence.

He lost his restraint, and so did Bruce.

He leaned forward, and he pressed his lips against Dick’s, a light, feathery touch. They felt so soft, so plush beneath his, and swollen from their sustained abuse Dick had been giving them. They were impossibly tender, and their taste, while having a hint of saltiness from the tears, was enough to open the floodgates in Bruce’s mind, and the months of locked away serotonin poured forth like a torrent, and he felt weightless. Dick had seized up, and stopped moving or breathing.

He pulled away, and finally opened his eyes. Dick was staring at him, unblinking, as a few more stray tears fell.

And then, Bruce had awoken.

“Dick, I’m--”

“What was that?” Dick interrupted, and his voice seemed so far away. Bruce let go of him entirely.

“Dick, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Bruce, what was that? What did you--why--”

“This is why, okay? This is why I don’t let you be around me. I love you, Dick, I really do, but I--I love you too much. More than a father should ever love his son. It was never you, alright, it’s me, it always has been from the start. I didn’t mean--I just couldn’t see you cry.” He felt like he was about to throw up again. He couldn’t possibly see how this would affect their future relationship, but the suicidal dread was beginning to return, and he knew, without a doubt, that he fucked up.

Dick blinked at him, and he started breathing again. He said nothing, making Bruce feel even worse. He probably had no idea what to think, he probably only had the most basic idea of what Bruce had done, or what he’d meant.

“I’m a sick person, Dick,” Bruce had finally admitted. “Sick people like me, they--they shouldn’t even be around kids, let alone try to raise them. You just--for so long, having you made me think my life was worth living. But then these feelings, they--they became all I could think about. And I became scared of them, and I’m still scared of them, and now--”

He sighed, and looked away.

“Now I don’t know what to do. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Dick sniffled again, and Bruce felt him adjusting himself in his bed.

“Do you love me?” Dick softly asked.

“I do, yes. With all my heart.”

“You just--love me too much?”

Bruce paused. “Yes.”

Dick’s hands were fidgeting again. “What do you love about me?”

No, no, he couldn’t do this, this couldn’t happen. Bruce had already destroyed what little relationship he had with Dick by giving in to his primal needs and kissing him, but he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t make this worse.

“Dick, I can’t, no.” The boy seemed to react to that, and he made a little sound in the back of his throat as Bruce tried to stand up off the bed. “I shouldn’t have done what I did, I’m sorry, but you had to know, I couldn’t keep it from you anymore. I have to leave now, I can’t answer your questions--”

“No!”

Dick’s hand shot out to grab onto Bruce’s wrist, and his hold then was tighter than it had been when keeping Bruce’s hand to his cheek moments ago. The cry had startled Bruce, and he saw that Dick’s face was a conflict of emotion: hurt, sadness, and frustration. The tears came back in full force.

“No, you’re not leaving! I finally have you with me, we’re finally talking, you’re not leaving!”

“Dick, let me go.”

“You’re not leaving me alone again, Bruce! This isn’t fair! You say my feelings aren’t ever stupid? Well, what’s so bad about yours? You just love me, right?” His voice faltered, but he remained insistent and resilient.

“Dick,” Bruce said, looking dead at him. “No. Don’t even.”

“You’ve never once told me that, you know?! This whole time you’ve told people you were my new dad, and I was your new son, but you’ve never told me you loved me! You never spend time with me like fathers do with their sons, you’re always telling me to just ignore it when I feel bad--I have nightmares and you don’t listen! You don’t--hold me, you don’t kiss me, you don’t--”

Dick’s lip was quivering again, and he tightened his grip on Bruce’s sleeve, bunching the cleanly pressed cotton.

“So then you finally do touch me, and it feels nice. Because before, it always felt like--you weren’t really there, like you didn’t really care for it. This whole time, I thought you couldn’t stand me, but now I know all along you loved me. But now, it’s ‘too much’?! So it’s wrong?!”

Dick rose up onto his knees, and he winced as he tucked his ankle underneath him so that he could lean forward, closer to Bruce. Bruce, of course, shot out a worried hand to steady him. The hand went to Dick’s waist.

“You say you love me more than a father should love his son. You say that our feelings aren’t stupid and we can’t control them, that they’re not our fault, but sometimes, I wondered if you only said that to keep me from complaining. But I think it’s true, even if you don’t. Alfred always says you’re stubborn, and you don’t like to let yourself be happy. Do I make you happy, Bruce?”

Bruce had to swallow down the lump in his throat as he sat back down. “Yes,” he said, strangulated.

“Then show me how much you love me. Show me how much is ‘too much’. You’re not leaving me again, it makes us too sad, but I can’t do anything about it because you’re the one that keeps doing this to me.”

Bruce stared at the little boy’s face before him. His eyebrows were furrowed and upturned, his eyes were bright, wide, and glossy, his face shiny and red from his tears. He looked like a living tragedy, and he looked very much like the sad, lonely, heartfelt boy that Bruce had known him to be, had caused him to be. Bruce had stolen the heart from this angel, and tormented him with his morbid cruelty by refusing to give it back.

Dick just wanted affection. This whole time, Dick just wanted to feel loved and adored from the man who promised to be his father.

But that man had the most impure love the boy could ever receive. Bruce truly believed, at that moment, that Dick would die from heartbreak if Bruce were to say no.

His hand moved back to his face to cup it once again, his thumb brushing away some of the tears that continued to fall; his other hand moved to wrap around the small of Dick’s back, to hold him close. His eyes softened, his lids lowered, and he looked at Dick with a gaze akin to that reserved for a lover. He knew, without a doubt, that Dick must have seen the darkness behind his eyes.

“You have to tell me no if it becomes too much.”

Dick nodded, seeming to understand, but Bruce knew he couldn’t. He gasped as Bruce began to lay him down on his back, making sure to be mindful of his ankle--he had to get pressure off his injury, no matter what.

“I mean it. If you don’t tell me to stop, I might not on my own.” He felt that Dick wouldn’t even begin to grasp what Bruce was doing, or how it should feel. But if he went slow, and went carefully, and gave Dick the illusion of control, it might not be so damaging for him. That was Bruce’s only hope.

“Show me you love me,” Dick said, and he sounded impossibly small.

Bruce leaned over on top of him, and he gave him another kiss on his lips. This kiss was just as gentle as the last, just a light touching of their lips together, but Bruce seemed to savour it so much more. It wasn’t an attempt out of desperation, and it wasn’t with such hurriedness so as to finally quell his burning ache, but it was out of pure love that he felt for his son. It was a brief touch, and he went as slowly as he could to let Dick feel that love. Dick wasn’t frozen in place like he had been the first time, and he was breathing slowly and steadily as he let his father kiss him in a way he never should.

Bruce held his face, his thumb still stroking his cheek, and as that kiss ended, he gave him another. And another. After the third kiss, Dick made a small sound, parting his lips just a bit for the man in control above him, and Bruce used this as an opportunity to try deepening it. His hand moved to wrap around the back of Dick’s head, and he tilted it, just a bit, to kiss him more passionately. Dick was breathing a bit harder through his nose, and his body began to shift underneath Bruce, arching into him the smallest amount.

He let out another sound, and he opened his lips more, and he squeaked and shuddered when Bruce slipped in his tongue. His tongue, much like everything else about him, was so much larger compared to what the boy had to offer. Dick’s tongue was so small, and its inexperience reminded Bruce of how virginal the boy truly was. Dick was his madonna, and Bruce was defiling his temple like the sinner he was. His forbidden fruit tasted so sweet, and it was such an undesirable pleasure that Bruce understood that he had never felt alive before he made love to his son’s mouth.

The sounds of Dick’s harsh breathing through his nose, the sounds of their tongues tangling together, and Dick’s occasionally whimpers and tiny moans were all that filled the room. Bruce held him still, held him tightly and firmly in place, and he completely devoured him, drinking up Dick’s saliva and sonata of debauchery like a man dying in a desert. Dick began to tremble, and Bruce eased up, ending their impassioned kissing with a translucent string connecting their lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bruce said, his own voice thick with lust. Dick’s eyes were blown out, and he looked heavenly. “You’re so beautiful, Dick.” He kissed him again, light with chastity like the ones that had come before. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathed out, his chest heaving with big gulps of air. Bruce kissed the corner of his mouth, and he whimpered. “Mmhmm.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t stop,” Dick said, and he threw his arms around Bruce’s neck to bring the adult man even closer.

Bruce kissed him again, trailing his lips along his cheek, to his ear, his jaw, down his neck. Dick was breathing so hard, but he tilted his head in any which way for Bruce to have the most access to his sensitive skin. He sucked on a spot underneath his ear, which had Dick cry out for the first time, and arch up against him in a sudden reaction. He trailed those kisses along his jaw, sucking underneath it, before moving even further down and biting lightly at his neck.

“Ah! B-Bruce--!”

Bruce shushed him, and licked at the wound he’d made before biting again. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds that Dick was making. He continued to bite at him before licking at the marks made by his teeth, as though it were faux care in regards to the pain he was putting his boy through. Dick was trembling so much, his nerves must have been on fire.

When Bruce bit at the crook of his neck, biting right at the junction with his shoulder, Dick cried out more clearly.

“Bruce, please--!”

“You doing okay, baby?” Bruce’s breath was heated on top of Dick’s skin. He looked at the marks he’d made on his flesh, and they looked so beautiful on top of the pale slenderness of his neck.

“I feel weird, Bruce,” he said with a whine. “I feel real hot.”

Dick was getting aroused. He must have been scared, not knowing what it was. He couldn’t have understood why he was heating up and shivering at the same time, why he was feeling so feverish, why his mind must have been getting more hazy. He couldn’t have known that Bruce was damaging him, and Bruce didn’t care.

“It’s okay, baby, that’s normal,” he said, before returning his mouth to bite at his sensitive baby flesh.

“N-normal--?”

Bruce said nothing more. At that moment, it felt like something snapped in his mind, and his libido and appetite took full control of his decision making. He continued to bite and kiss and lick at the boy’s neck, and he knew how obvious the bruises would be if he didn’t cover them up, but it felt next to impossible to hold back. He had starved himself for so long, he had tormented himself and punished himself for years ever since he first realized how he’d wanted this boy, and now, he was finally allowed to have him. He felt like he’d been drunk on Bacchus’s wine.

Dick continued to whimper, and his breathing was so hurried and ragged. He was taking in large gulps of air, and his fingers in Bruce’s hair and around his shoulders squeezed and seized in a desperate attempt to be grounded--but Bruce could tell how overwhelming this was.

“Bruce--”

Dick continued to moan his name, and each time he’d heard it, Bruce would suck harder, and his hand would move lower.

“B-Bruce, your hand--”

It was resting on the boy’s belly, and Dick’s attention to it brought Bruce out of his heated fervor. He rubbed his hand in gentle circles, bunching up the fabric of his shirt, but not dipping beneath it aside from the brush of his thumb.

“Is this okay?”

“I feel weird down there, Bruce,” Dick whined, and he sounded so pained. The guilt Bruce was feeling only added fuel to the fire.

“Do you want me to stop?” Of course, he would if he was asked to, but he had far more difficulty than he ought to have when bringing himself to ask that question. He didn’t, however, stop kissing his neck, and rubbing his stomach through his clothes.

Dick didn’t respond, however, instead making tiny little stops and starts with his voice as though he wasn’t sure what to say. His eyes were screwed shut, and his lip was so wet and swollen and red from worrying it during Bruce’s onslaught, quivering as he thought of how he felt and how to answer. Bruce knew he wasn’t making it easy for his little mind to catch up to everything that was happening and make sense of it, and he knew how selfish he was being by not letting up.

“Dick?”

“I don’t know,” the little boy said, restlessly moving around underneath Bruce. “I don’t know, I like it, I like getting attention, it just feels weird, I don’t know--”

“Does it feel bad?”

Dick started to say no, that “nh” sound forming immediately after Bruce had asked his question, but he hesitated. After a few more breathless moments, he finally murmured, “I don’t want you to stop.”

While Bruce liked that answer, it felt like he was going in circles trying to figure out where Dick was. His hand, however, slipped underneath the boy’s top, and began stroking his flushed skin. He caressed his soft chest, feeling it rise and fall rapidly as he panted and shuttered, and his eyes were still squeezed as tight as they could, like he was preparing for a needle to break his skin.

“Relax, baby,” Bruce whispered into his shoulder. “It’ll be a lot better if you just calm down. Focus on how good it feels. Does it feel good?” He needed validation.

“I don’t know,” Dick said again, and this time, he sounded ready to cry. His fingers were squeezing just as tightly as his eyes, and if they hadn’t been bunched in the fabric of Bruce’s own clothing, he knew it would have been painful. “I don’t want you to stop touching me, but it feels really weird, and I don’t want you to go away, because you’ve never--you don’t--”

Bruce shushed him once more, and continued to stroke the length of Dick’s tiny, underdeveloped torso. “Just tell me what it feels like, okay? Talk us through it, you don’t have to be quiet. Just tell me what’s going on, baby.”

“I like--your hand,” he said, his voice so small and distant, like he was trying to hide. “It’s warm, and I like how it feels. Your mouth, uhm, f-feels good, too. It’s hard to breathe, though, and my tummy feels all tight--”

His hand slid from his collarbone down to his naval, and he stroked his hand along it in small circles, like it was a simple massage. Dick knew that it wasn’t, and he began to really struggle with forming words.

“A-and wh-when you--you go, uhm, lower, it gets w-worse--”

“Why is that, baby,” Bruce said. It wasn’t even a question at that point, because he knew his judgment was failing, and all he could do was soak in the sounds and smells of the object of his desires that were being displayed all for him at full force. This boy was the ultimate vice, and Bruce’s hand was so close, so dangerously close, to the pit of his passion. As much as it pained him that his boy wasn’t as fully conscious of the things being done to him as he might have been in his fantasies, he was entirely appreciative of the way his nervousness tugged on his heartstrings, and made the aching in both his chest and his pants just as painful.

But he knew what he was doing. As clouded as his mind may have become, he knew what he was doing, and the effect it was having on his boy, and he wholly ignored what consequences it might bring. Dick allowed this, and he would have this. And he knew why Dick’s condition was worsening by the moment. He knew what he would say, or at least, what he would imply.

He just needed him to say it. He needed to hear it. He needed Dick to say what Bruce was doing to him, and he needed it almost as badly as he needed Dick.

“My,” Dick started, and he bit his lip so hard Bruce was certain the skin would break. “My--my penis--?”

Bruce let out the deepest rush of air from his nose, and his head felt like it was swimming. His cock throbbed terribly.

“Tell me about your penis, Dick.” He began to undo the button of his shorts.

“Bruce, i-is this--is this okay?”

“This is just my love, Dick.” He began to pull down his zipper. “This is the love I have for you.”

“Is it supposed to m-make me feel weird? I feel sick, Bruce, my head hurts and I feel weird between my legs, I don’t--”

“Let me take care of it for you.” He began to slip his shorts and briefs down his hips. “I’ll make it quick. I promise.”

“Bruce--” It was the tiniest sound, and Dick finally withdrew his hands to throw one arm over his eyes.

Bruce glanced down between their bodies, and as he saw Dick’s little cock, and his mind and vision completely blacked out for a split second. It was even better than anything he could have imagined. He’d known what boys his age looked like, having been one himself, but nothing could have prepared him for this moment. His penis was so small, and so slender, and he’d never been circumcised. The foreskin still wrapped tightly around his phimotic head, and despite his nerves and anxiety and uncertainty regarding how he was feeling, the shaft was erect, and the tiniest bead of fluid was forming at the tip. It looked beautiful, and when Bruce leaned up off of Dick to look at his full form, Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.

He looked like the subject of a gorgeous painting. He looked dreamlike, almost ethereal, and Bruce knew he was in love. His black hair, his bright blue eyes looking back up at him with such reservation and a hint of fear, the redness of his face and the rosiness of his lips. His slender neck as Bruce’s eyes trailed down, the rise and fall of his chest, and his penis twitching as Bruce wrapped his large hand around it and began to stroke. He was staring at every inch of Dick’s body, and he watched him writhe and squirm under his ministrations, and he only just barely heard his moans.

His delectable moans. His moans that were so sweet, as though dipped and coated in sugar, his voice mirroring the prepubescence of his body. He was almost feminine, in a way, and Bruce knew that had he not had what made him a boy in his hand, Dick would have resembled an androgyne, and the thought made his cock throb harder. His eyes kept moving from between his legs to his face as he stroked his hand faster and faster.

Dick resembled Bruce when he was at that age in so many ways, and it was often commented on by his peers and coworkers, the acknowledgement that Dick was adopted being a surprise to many. The hair was styled similarly, their features were soft and delicate, Dick even had the long limbs and arms that his mother would always praise for their lithe beauty, even if at the time Bruce didn’t quite understand. Now he did, now that he was an adult just barely old enough to have a son of his own, even if he understood in a way he never should. Dick was the essence of childish beauty, and it left Bruce with a convoluted sort of jealousy and pride.

Dick was his. Dick could have been his own flesh and blood. He could have been doing this to his biological son, or to himself.

Dick could have been him. It was at that moment that Bruce understood everything.

“Bruce, I have to pee--!!”

The pace of Bruce’s hand quickened, and he was determined to bring his boy to climax. Dick had been writhing around on the sheets, gripping them until his knuckles turned white and kicking his good foot in an attempt to endure and escape. He was moaning and whining so much, his lips forming such wonderful sounds, and tears began to slip from his eyes as he grew closer and closer. Bruce had stopped saying anything, and he only watched, and stared, until he felt the final shudder and heard Dick stop breathing as his white hot liquid shot out like a fountain and coated his hand that continued to pump.

Both of Dick’s hands moved to his eyes, and he pressed down and rubbed at them as he tried to calm down from his sudden high. His breathing was so wet and ragged, and tears were still falling as his penis began to soften. His moans were dissipating and falling off, and they sounded like sobs. It wasn’t until his penis was finally done spurting out its final drops that Bruce pulled his hand away, and it took more self-control than he’d realized he had at that point to not lick the fluids off his hand, instead taking out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping it off. He did, however, press the sides of his fingers against his lips to taste any remnants of his boy’s essence.

He said nothing. He knew what he should have said, but all he could do was look at Dick, and the familiar images and scenes that always plastered themselves along every inch of his brain when he was alone or sleeping became so clear, so pristine, so vibrant. He looked at Dick, and he saw a ravaged boy, a boy whose little remaining innocence had been stolen by the man he was to trust the most, and his cock ached. He saw his tears, he heard his sobs, and he saw the trembling of his limbs, the heaving of his lungs. The sight before him and the awareness of his actions conflated and mixed with the images he’d obsessed over in the past; fantasies of the boy with an almost nymph-like demeanor, a boy asking to touch Bruce with hesitance but determination, a boy saying he loved Bruce as he pressed his kisses along his naked body, and a boy readily accepting Bruce between his legs.

Bruce knew that was not the reality. Bruce knew what lay before him, and knew how it contradicted the fiction in his head. He knew that this was very different from what his subconscious had conceived, but he didn’t apologize. He didn’t backpedal.

He didn’t ask if Dick was okay. He said nothing.

“Are we done?,” Dick finally said.

“Yeah,” Bruce responded, in a voice that sounded completely different than his own.

Dick’s sniffling had ceased, and while he rubbed at his eyes with his hands, he didn’t bring them down to look at Bruce.

“That felt really weird,” Dick said, softly.

“I asked if you didn’t like it.”

“I know, but--”

“We could have stopped at any time.” Bruce didn’t know what he was doing.

“I know! It just--I wanted to make you happy. I wanted you to be with me, but it made me really nervous, and I--I don’t know if I liked it.”

The last part was said in a tiny voice. He was afraid of hurting Bruce’s feelings.

At Bruce’s silence, Dick said, “can we go slower next time?”

Bruce wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and he wanted to die.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still sounding as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Another moment of silence passed before Dick pulled his hands down and finally looked at Bruce. His eyes were puffy and red and wet from his tears.

His heart ached and his stomach felt like lead.

“Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t.”

This didn’t help at all.

This made it worse.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the fic be sure to leave a like, comment, and subscribe, don't forget to check out my website for some sick boywifebruce merch, feel free to head on over to my patreon, please click the link in the description to use my promo code when you sign up for raid shadow legends
> 
> oh and if you want to, go check me out on twitter at @boywifebruce


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